


a spirit sprung

by sinequanon



Series: mortal night [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 22:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15827847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinequanon/pseuds/sinequanon
Summary: Just because Stiles can’t spill Coulson’s secret for him doesn’t mean he can’t try to smooth the waters beforehand.





	a spirit sprung

**Author's Note:**

> This is...very late. I apologize. Life and family issues popped up suddenly, and that pulled me away from fanfiction altogether. I won’t be able to resume my weekly posting, but I’m going to post a few things over the next few days to hopefully make up for my absence. There’ll be more about that in the end notes.
> 
> As for this installment, the first part of it runs concurrently to the story before this. Its a little awkward, but it answers a couple of questions asked in previous parts, so I think it works out okay.

With all of the weirdness in his life, one of the bright spots in Stiles’s week was the Sunday phone call from his dad. No matter what crisis might be affecting New York, his dad was always there to offer support, encouragement, and to let him know that hey, at least the robot invasion of the week is confined to Manhattan this time, right?  
  
Except, of course, for when his dad was being, you know, _his dad_ and asking about things he shouldn’t even know about, like solstice gatherings involving large numbers of vampires. It was bad enough that Stiles was already running late for his date; he didn’t want to be semi-lectured in the meantime.  
  
Never let it be said that his dad still couldn't give him _the look_ , though, over the phone, when Stiles couldn't actually see him, from over 2,000 miles away. “So, I hear that you’re going to a vampire ball.”  
  
_How did he_ do _that_? Also, was it hereditary, because that could be handy?  
  
“Why?” Stiles set the phone to speakerphone and set it on the dresser so he could talk and get ready at the same time. “Are you going to send Jordan to rescue me from my terrible, terrible fate if it's true? Because it’s pretty true, and while I’m not entirely opposed to being rescued, how did you find out about it, exactly?”  
  
His dad laughed, but it was more one of those ‘how is this my life’ huffs than anything. Stiles had heard a lot of them since his dad had found out Beacon Hills’ big secret, so he knew exactly what they sounded like.  
  
“Peter told me,” his dad told him, which, despite the fact that Stiles and Peter hadn’t seen each other since Stiles’s move, actually wasn’t surprising at all.  
  
Stiles _would_ ask his dad how Peter found out, but the eldest Hale had probably heard it from some werewolf who had mauled some witch who had gouged out a vampire’s eyes out for the information, and for his own sanity, Stiles had long ago decided not to look too closely at Peter's chain of contacts.  
  
“I hear those girls are going to be there,” his dad added when Stiles took too long to answer.  
  
(If anyone asked, Stiles would say that he didn’t answer right away because he was distracted, and couldn’t find his shoe, not because the thought of being in an enclosed space with one particular vampire made him lightheaded. He got distracted, okay? The space under his bed was bigger than he’d thought.)  
  
“‘Those girls’ haven't been girls for awhile now, Dad.”  
  
“All the more reason to be careful. Clint's going with you, right?”  
  
“Yeah. He's already sharpening his knives. I’ve got the dragons, too. I’ll be fine.”  
  
With one last glance in the mirror, Stiles grabbed his keys and made for the door. “I’ve got to get going, Dad. Tony says if I don’t make it to the tower by 8:00, he’s going to lock down the elevators. I’m pretty sure JARVIS will let me up anyway, but I’d rather not push my luck. I’ll talk to you next week.”  
  
Stiles got to the Tower at 8:03. JARVIS, naturally, let him up anyway.  
  
Clint was waiting for him as soon as he stepped out of the elevator, shirtless and draped over the back of the couch and wearing a smile that was just a touch too wide to be innocent. Stiles could see the sweat on the other man’s chest, which meant that Clint had lost track of time sparring with Natasha and had probably barely made it to his apartment in time to “artfully” arrange the scene in the hopes that Stiles would be too distracted by muscles to notice that he wasn’t ready for dinner.  
  
Stiles could admit that it was an excellent attempt at distraction, but spending so much time with shirt-averse werewolves had made him a bit of an expert on what the male torso looked like in almost any given situation, so he could tell when he was being played.  
  
Not that he minded, of course.  
  
“You are not subtle at all,” he chuckled easily as he leaned in to give the archer a kiss. “How have you survived as a spy?”  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Clint argued, leveraging himself upright to move with Stiles as the younger man started to back away, and then wrapping his arm around Stiles’s waist to pull him closer. “I’ll have you know, I am a master at the art of deception,” he added, and started slowly guiding both of them toward the bedroom. A few lazy, drugging kisses and wandering hands later, Clint was staring triumphantly down at Stiles from where the younger man was laid across the bed.  
  
“See, I have you to right where I want you,” the archer grinned and pressed forward to pin Stiles's hands to the bed. “You'll have to tell me all of your secrets, now, if you want to escape.”  
  
_But I'm not the one with the secret_ , Stiles thought fleetingly, just before Clint leaned down to start pressing a trail of kisses against the column of his throat.  
  
They’d be having dessert first, then. Fine with him. “Who says I want to escape?”  
  
<> <>  
  
To most of humanity, dealing with the supernatural world was remarkably easy—grab a book of fairy tales, or a copy of _Dracula_ , or find the pop culture reference of choice and _voilà_ —instant expert. Even if your average mother of two didn’t have wooden stakes lying around, most people still took comfort in knowing they _could_ do something, if only they felt like making the effort.  
  
And although a wooden stake to the heart would kill just about everything (or at least distract it long enough for you to get away), pop culture was just about the worst place for humans to get their information about supernaturals.  
  
(Of course, that didn't mean that it wasn't _fun_ for the supernaturals in question to let those ideas stand. One of the West Coast vampire clans had an ongoing drinking game with the neighboring werewolf pack involving TV-based vampire/werewolf tropes and jello shots that had led to rather substantial list of public indecency charges the last time they’d been together. The pictures from that evening still popped up on social media on a semi-regular basis, much to the pack alpha’s frustration, and everyone else's delight.)  
  
The thing about getting advice from fairy tales, though, was that ninety-eight percent of it was bullshit, and the other two percent was just crazy enough not to be believed (even if it was true).  
  
Vampires, for example, were almost nothing like they were portrayed in popular culture. They liked to dress the part, sure, because it was fun and it screwed with people’s heads, but Stiles figured that Bram Stoker had met _one_ vampire, _one_ time, and his bunch of sweeping generalizations became so popular that they somehow still persisted in the collective psyche today.  
  
Because one of the best-kept secrets of the supernatural world was that vampires were usually not like Dracula at all--they were basically teenagers living in never-ending soap operas, complete with increasingly unlikely and ridiculous plotlines. And fangs.  
  
(It would have been hilarious if they weren’t also capable of eviscerating people with the nails on their pinky fingers. Actually, it was still hilarious, but only when spoken of in a controlled, soundproof, undead-free for miles environment.)  
  
Stiles had _personal_ experience in this regard; his first interactions with the New York vampires had been heavy on the melodrama, and shockingly light on rationality. Stiles still had nightmares about it every few months.  
  
(Not that Stiles blamed Josephine, of course; after dating a werecoyote and a banshee, a vampire wasn't a big deal. It was her crazy clan that was the problem. The two of them had managed to keep their dates pretty low-key, up until Jo was abducted by sirens right before what would have been their fifth date. Even worse, the whole thing was Jacqueline's fault, for stealing one of the sirens’ children, taking her twin sister’s place on their date [with her parents’ blessing, no less] and plotting to make Stiles and the siren child into her new “family”.)  
  
If Edward hadn't realized what was going on and stopped his crazy sister from drugging Stiles at the restaurant that night, he would probably be a mostly brain-dead househusband right now.  
  
Edward had also been the one to rescue Jo from the sirens, because, you know, the rest of the clan was too busy metaphorically sitting back and watching the show; it wasn't like Josephine would die, probably, and _Oh, look at the cute human, he doesn't even know which sister he’s dating. I hope he doesn't accidentally get eaten, and if he does, well, that's lunch_.  
  
So. It wasn't that the clan actively wanted him dead or anything, but Stiles didn't feel entirely comfortable spending time with people who would likely choose to roast marshmallows over his burning body if he was on fire rather than help put him out.  
  
Stiles and Josephine hadn't really been able to talk to each other after that, and Stiles had spent two months being paranoid about the possibility of being stolen by vampires until Peter had called and talked him down. For a while, it had almost been enough to drive Stiles back to Beacon Hills, home of steampunk doctor-wannabes, dudes with three eyes, and Nazi werewolves.  
  
(He wouldn't have stayed in Beacon Hills for long, if for no other reason than that neither his dad nor Peter would have stood for it, but he probably wouldn't have returned to New York, either. And if Stiles hadn't stayed in New York, he might not have met Clint; though Stiles preferred to believe that even if they hadn't met at SHIELD, some sort of supernatural and/or global disaster would have brought them together eventually. So sue him; he’s a romantic.)  
  
The fact was, Stiles understood _exactly_ why Coulson had tried so hard to keep his autonomy from the supernatural, because Stiles had done the same thing. Humanity, in a sea of myths and monsters, was a strength, and you needed every advantage (no matter how unlikely) to survive in the nonhuman world.  
  
It wasn't about being the only person in the room able to handle mountain ash, or being a daytime companion to the undead. It was about being yourself and standing up for what you believed in despite being surrounded by claws and fangs.  
  
It was about ignoring the confusion in your best friend’s eyes when you told him that being on the fringes of the pack was what was best for you while you found your own place in the world.  
  
It was about the ability to say no to the Fairy Queen (until she wore you down anyway, damn it), and be respected enough to interact with most of the city without some pack treaty or long-simmering feud hanging over your head.  
  
Stiles understood Coulson completely, which is why he had spent the past few weeks subtly preparing his boyfriend (and the rest of the Avengers) for the other man's big reveal.  
  
Accidentally sending Tony and Bruce links to a couple of articles about the differences between memory alteration and mind control? Check.  
  
Introducing Steve to one of Stiles's favorite witch-run coffee shops in the city? Check.  
  
Slowly bringing up the nogitsune and the Wild Hunt to Clint while the two of them were curled up together in the dark? A painful (but necessary) check.  
  
Of course, Stiles’s biggest problem right now was that he had no idea how to start the actual, “ _So your memory’s been altered by a supernatural creature, what does that mean for you_?” conversation with any of them without giving Coulson's secret away himself. The older agent would undoubtedly say that it wasn't Stiles's problem, but it sort of _was_ ; SHIELD looked to Stiles as a liaison between humanity and the supernatural, and as long as the supernatural community kept pushing him into that role (he knew very well that his dragons were there for more than just protection, no matter what the witch who had given him the eggs had said), he was going to have to at least pretend that he knew what was going on.  
  
After all, it was in everyone's best interest that the city's superheroes got along with its nonhumans, and it wasn't just an issue of property damage.  
  
There was a reason that the vampire ball was being held in an abandoned part of town that had nothing to do with ambiance, and everything to do with the fact that the last time there had been a vampire ball of this size, dueling was still popular and (even though pistols hadn't been allowed at the party) more than one person had left the ball _completely_ dead.  
  
It was pretty much inevitable that not everyone who RSVP’d for the Solstice Ball was going to make it out alive.  
  
It didn't matter that Jeremiah was one of the steadiest vampires Stiles had ever met, or that Anna was too savvy to let anything untoward happen in her territory; the other two, including Jo and Edward’s clan head, would cause enough trouble for all of them.  
  
Because things happened at vampire parties, and Clint and Coulson’s welcome presences aside, Stiles was not looking forward to finding out what those things would be.  
  
<> <>  
  
A week before the Solstice Ball, Phil still hadn’t managed to tell the Avengers his secret.  
  
On the plus side, the team was finally all back in the Tower and were going to have dinner together, so he’d finally have his chance; on the minus side, most of them were exhausted from all of the excitement of the last few weeks.  
  
Stiles had been invited, but he had chosen to stay home; although he had made sure that both Coulson and Clint had known that he would be available if he was needed. (Stiles knew that _that_ , if nothing else, had made Clint suspicious; he’d declined the dinner easily enough, but Stiles hadn’t even tried to be subtle about letting his boyfriend know that he could reach Stiles at any time.) Of course, Stiles didn't actually expect the reveal to go poorly--the Avengers were nothing if not adaptable--but Stiles didn't want anyone (Coulson included) spiraling into a panic attack over supernatural issues.  
  
(Potentially apocalyptic alien invasions, sure, but supernatural shenanigans? Not worth the rise in blood pressure.)  
  
As it turned out, though, sitting around maybe waiting for a phone call got old fast, which was why Stiles was already wandering around the city when the screaming started.  
  
It said a lot about the state of Stiles's life that the first thing he thought of when he saw the giant fireball-shooting frog was: _I wonder whose jurisdiction this thing is_? instead of _Quick, quick, kill it_!  
  
Not that _quick, quick, kill it_ didn't follow shortly thereafter, but if this was a magical problem instead of an evil robot/alien invasion/lab-cooked villain problem, that meant that the PAC had people to deal with this kind of crap, and Stiles was _not_ going to get involved aside from getting civilians to safety.  
  
Really, he wasn’t, beyond calling the Council and demanding they come to clean up their mess. The Avengers were no doubt coming—they almost always got called out for explosions, regardless of origin—but Stiles recognized this kind of fireball ( _senior year of high school, such simpler times_ ), which meant that this was a witchy problem.  
  
Thankfully, most people had been smart enough to run as soon as they saw the giant frog heading their way, and between Stiles, his dragons, and the tiny number of SHIELD agents who had already been in the area when the frog showed up, they’d managed to clear the area surprisingly quickly and were currently waiting for backup to arrive.  
  
It was a good thing, too, because no sooner had Stiles cleared his area of the street than the monstrous amphibian shot a fireball a few feet from where was standing.  
  
Stiles dove behind a charred car and took the opportunity to survey the damage while he tapped angrily at his phone. So far, the frog didn’t seem prone to jumping, so that was a plus, and the agents that were around all seemed level-headed enough to recognize that keeping the frog in their mostly-evacuated area was their best bet and were doing an admirable job of distracting it (not unlike a life-sized game of whack-a-mole, actually) while the only one of them with connections to the PAC called for reinforcements. Stiles glanced down and frowned as his phone chimed with a message, because no, he didn’t know the frog’s proper taxonomy, he wasn’t a herpetologist—  
  
His phone chimed again, and only years of dealing with Peter Hale kept Stiles from chucking his phone across the street.  
  
_No_ , of course he didn't know the frog’s point of origin, or the blast radius of its fireballs, or the length of its tongue, or even what it liked to eat for lunch. He just needed some witches--solitary or coven-affiliated, or hell, other supernaturals _dressed up_ like witches, he didn't care at this point as long as they could help take care of the problem.  
  
A few moments later, his phone chimed once more with the confirmation that PAC assistance was en route and if Stiles could keep anyone from being eaten in the meantime, it would be appreciated.  
  
Stiles didn’t have much time to do more than think about rolling his eyes before there was another explosion, followed by panicked yells and the sound of what could only be a crumbling building. He peeked out from his hiding place to see the frog much closer than before and two of his coworkers crouched among the rubble of what used to be a coffee shop. One of them was cradling his arm, the other had a gash across her forehead, and both were shaking with what was probably relief at not being buried in the ruins. When Stiles caught their eyes, though, they both straightened and flashed him thumbs up.  
  
This time, Stiles really did roll his eyes. SHIELD agents, seriously.  
  
Another SHIELD agent popped out of her hiding place like the good distraction she was, giving the other two time to run for cover. As soon as they were clear, the first agent crouched back down into her hiding spot and another popped up to catch the frog’s attention. That was also the moment when a familiar roar rang through the air, and a more familiar green giant landed next to the extra large amphibian.  
  
<> <>  
  
Clint was not having a great day. Phil was acting shifty, Stiles had turned down dinner, and now Hulk was trying to smash an oversized frog like they were in some bastardized 80s video game. To make matters worse, both Phil and Stiles were on the field—Phil, likely coordinating relief efforts with SHIELD, and Stiles, undoubtedly with some pencil pusher from the PAC. At least Phil was on the sidelines. Stiles was still in the middle of things an hour into the battle, his eyes periodically flicking toward the horizon as everyone waited for the witches to arrive.  
  
He wasn’t sure what he expected—a phalanx of women on broomsticks, maybe—but what he got was essentially a motorcycle gang of mostly cheerful-looking twenty-somethings who immediately moved to start subduing the monster frog. It was a good thing that they’d finally made it, because everyone on comms could tell that Tony was getting tired of dodging, Hulk was noticeably flagging, and there were only so many fireballs Steve could deflect with his shield before all the buildings in the area were flattened.  
  
Clint glanced over to Stiles, who was speaking with one of the new arrivals, to Phil, still on the phone, and then back to the frog itself. It was surrounded, but visibly struggling against whatever the witches had done to him. It tossed its head up and to the left, and released a fireball directly into the building behind Coulson.  
  
Both of them went down.  
  
<> <>  
  
One moment, Stiles had been coordinating with the head witch in charge about containment and the next, the frog managed to send a lucky shot into the building behind most of the auxiliary SHIELD personnel, sending debris flying into the agents below.  
  
Stiles was already running before he ever heard Clint yell. Somehow, though, both Clint and Natasha reached Coulson before Stiles, and he and the head witch had to pull the pair away in order to look at the fallen man.  
  
“Is he breathing?” somebody--maybe Steve?--asked, and somebody else sucked in a breath, but Stiles ignored them all in favor of the young woman who was now working her way through the crowd.  
  
The witch dropped to her knees next to them, and with barely a look at anyone other than Stiles, put her hands on Coulson.  
  
Stiles had no idea how this kind of witchery worked, but it seemed like no time at all before Coulson's wounds were closing. The agent took a deep breath, and, a few seconds later, opened his eyes.  
  
His eyes focused first on the young woman hovering over him before lazily looking around and back again. “Ms. Sanchez,” he greeted.  
  
“Hey, Coulson,” she smiled. “You know, we’ve got to stop meeting like this. Who knows what kind of trouble you’d get yourself into if I wasn't around?”  
  
“I'll do my best to stay in one piece,” he promised, though he groaned when Stiles pulled him to his feet.  
  
“You’d better,” Sanchez agreed with a smirk and a wink as she started to move away. “Otherwise, I might be forced to fight Jeremiah for your resurrected soul or something, and nobody wants that.”  
  
As one, the Avengers looked from the witch, to Coulson, and back again. Not three seconds later, the questions started.  
  
“Where did you meet this girl, exactly?” asked Natasha.  
  
“Who’s Jeremiah?” Steve wondered.  
  
“What did she mean by _resurrected_ soul?” Clint demanded.  
  
Coulson sighed. “I think we’d better take this inside.”  
  
<> <>  
  
Let it be known that drunk Avengers--while amusing for about forty minutes at a time--were not ideal.  
  
Stiles had now seen much more of Thor than he ever wanted to see, heard more depressing stories than he ever wanted to hear out of Steve, and shot down one too many world domination theories between Bruce and Tony.  
  
Clint and Natasha had kept Phil sandwiched between them on the sofa for the last three hours. The two of them had finally passed out twenty minutes ago, and Stiles was pretty sure that Natasha was drooling onto Phil's shoulder.  
  
(Stiles absolutely did not take a picture for further analysis. Of course he didn't. Absolutely not.)  
  
“Thank you for your help,” Phil said lowly, as the two of them watched the sleeping superheroes. “With everything.”  
  
Stiles shrugged. At least it was out there, now, and everyone could start recovering. Things would be dicey for Clint for a while, but it would get better. “Maybe we’ll get lucky,” he said, a little too hopefully, “and that frog will have taken out the solstice venue. I heard it escaped from that part of town.”  
  
Two days later, Stiles heard on the news that the warehouse where the vampire solstice was meant to be held had burned down under mysterious circumstances, and that police had cordoned off everything within a twenty block radius to search for other illegal “stuff”.  
  
(Stiles took Coulson out to a very nice dinner on the night of the solstice, just to say thanks.)

**Author's Note:**

> So...I have thoughts on what will happen next time, but I don’t know when I’ll have the chance to write it. It will happen eventually, I promise.
> 
> I mentioned up top that I’m going to post a few more things. I’m posting the two things I was supposed to post in November today, and then over the next few days I’ll be posting stuff for Bleach, the Avengers (no crossover), and Teen Wolf. After that (and responding to comments), I’m going to disappear again for another 2-3 months.
> 
> Thank you for all your support, and thanks for reading!


End file.
